


Assumed Name

by knightship



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Body Horror, Clones, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightship/pseuds/knightship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick never asked for this, but he takes what he's given and clings to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assumed Name

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [posted on my livejournal](http://exterra-astris.livejournal.com/26053.html) for the yj anon meme, although finding the original prompt and providing you with a link is a task which i am not up for at the moment. This was also posted back in 2011 and I haven't seen the show since Artemis showed up.

It starts when your fingernails fall off.

You regard the blood in the sink, the peeled-off nail clinging to the white porcelain, and the bloody pulp that’s the end of your finger. Your hand shakes as the fluorescent light above you flickers, and after a moment of watching the tremors you tense, making your muscles lock, and the tremors disappear.

You rinse your hand in the sink and wrap it, and don’t meet your copied eyes in the mirror.

-

The next nail in your coffin is when you slip.

Your hands have been going numb, gradually, and you train harder and harder to compensate for the lack of feeling when your hands hit the uneven bars. But on this afternoon, you’re going faster because Bruce is watching and you have to be perfect, perfect, perfect.

The reach you’re trying for is too far, you know as soon as your fingers hit the edge of the bar and fail to wrap around. You fall, landing hard on the top of your spine, and for a moment you can only lay there and breathe so hard that it hurts, stunned and pained and-

“Dick? Dick, are you okay?” Bruce kneels at your side, and it’s too much suddenly.

“Please don’t throw me away, please don’t replace me, please,” you beg, eyes watering, and for a moment you wish you were like Superboy, channeling all the hurt into anger instead of just feeling this fear and anguish.

Bruce cradles your cheek, and says softly, “Maybe you should go visit him. It always makes you feel better.”

As Bruce leaves, you can only think that if you die, you don’t want to be forgotten.

-

You visit Dick in the hospital.

His name, according to the chart at the end of his bed, is Richard Balton, but the name he was born with was Greyson.

You’ve taken this poor boy’s life, you think, as you stand at the end of the bed with your wrapped fingers and stolen identity. They don’t even look that much alike- Dick is paler, frailer, built like a bird, and you’re starting to fill out too much, your shoulders are too broad and you have freckles all over.

You’re not him. You wish, sometimes, when you feel bitter and angry from the nightmares, that he would just die in this bed, but he’s given you so much that sometimes you have dreams where he wakes up and just steps into the life you’ve built for him, and you can’t even be mad, because it’s his.

And so you resolve, just like you do every time you come here, to be thankful for what you have, and when the time comes for him to wake up, you won’t resist.

-

The final step is when you don’t even realize that you’re bleeding from a five inch gash across your ribs. Your nerves have been deadening- Bruce has given you another few months before the degeneration has gone too far. You take the hit and ignore it, like you’ve been trained, but the nerves don’t continue to transmit the pain, and it isn’t until Wally gasps out, “Robin!” that you remember.

“Oh,” you say weakly, as the blood seeps down your side, and Wally forces you to sit, calling into his communicator for help.

“Wally,” you say, catching his attention. You smile sadly at him. “It’s okay. Seriously, it’s okay.” You continue to placate him as you lose more and more blood, despite his compress against your side. You know your blood probably isn’t coagulating like it should be, and Wally just stays with you until Bruce comes.

You meet Bruce’s eyes, and he picks you up carefully, Wally trailing behind as you’re taken to the Batmobile. You grip Wally’s hand and smile at him, and then the cockpit slides closed around you and you close your eyes.

-

You wake up, and the first thing you feel is the most blissful pain you’ve ever felt because it means you’re alive.

Bruce stands over you, masked and stern and still, but you can read the subtle smile on his face all the same.

You stare at your hands, your body, heavily bandaged and achy from healing.

“Why…why am I alive?” you ask wonderingly, and then you hear Wally snort.

“’Cause we saved you, duh. It’s not like we were gonna let you die.” You turn back to Bruce, mouth gaping.

“We’re at Gotham Central, in room 316. He’s just down the hall,” Bruce supplies, and then he’s gone out the window, and you know what he wants you to do but you’re not sure if Wally- if he’ll think of you the same way. It’s almost guaranteed that his opinion will change, that things will never be the same.

“What was that all about?” Wally asks, closing the window with an annoyed crease between his eyebrows. You squirm, and then ask recklessly,

“Can you link us up to Megan and the team?” Wally stares for a minute, clearly reading your unease, but a second later you feel the mental knock at the back of your head, and Megan, Kaldur, Connor and Artemis are there, happy and curious in your mind.

“Rob?” Wally asks, and you gesture for him to help you up. You feel better than you have in ages, but your muscles burn steadily and it’s difficult to walk.

You guide him down the hall, and inside Dick lays there, mask over his face and machines a steady rhythm. Wally helps you into a chair at his bedside, combined nervousness, confusion and anticipation making your stomach churn.

“This is Dick Greyson,” you start slowly, reaching out to touch his cool hand, “and when he was a little boy, his parents were in the circus. A bad man sabotaged their equipment, and they fell to their deaths. Dick was the only one who saw, and before he could say anything in court, the bad man hurt him and made him fall asleep.”

It’s so easy to explain, in the simplified fairy tale story that Bruce used to tell you, and you can feel Wally’s thoughts churning, trying to connect the pieces. You swallow and keep talking, relying on Wally to pass the words on to the others.

“A man named Bruce Wayne wanted to help Dick, but there was nothing he could do. But Batman- Batman could do something. And Bruce was Batman, so it was easy to get justice for Dick.” He can feel Wally’s shock, the shock that amplifies with each mind, and you curl your hand around Dick’s wrist, feel his weak pulse against your fingers.

“Batman realized that he needed someone to help him- that he needed Dick to help him. He needed a Robin, and Bruce needed a son. But Dick wasn’t going to wake up. So Batman used his resources to- to make a…” You’ve never actually said this out loud. It’s so weird, so crazy, so off-the-wall that you’ve never used the word. You’ve always called yourself a copy, never a-

“A clone,” Wally offers, soft. Connor’s bewilderment is a tangible taste in your mouth, and for a moment it’s tough to speak.

“Yeah. Of Bruce.” Megan and Kaldur recover the fastest, and Megan winds around your mind like a comforting blanket, Connor joining a moment later. Kaldur holds back, thoughts of moles flickering across his mind, but Artemis is there to pull him in and show him the truth in your mind.

You stare at Wally, his mind a cryptic whirlwind of thought after thought.

He hugs you, hard and warm, and you think that maybe this is what it’d be like to have a brother.


End file.
